Poetry

The morning sun hangs bright
over the city,
in a light blue sky
and False Bay, the big flat old mountain
and the ocean is a hue
of navy blue
while I land only for a visit.
 
Reflecting window doors open
by themselves as if magically
revealing a land of wonder
where the wind bristles through my hair,
hawkers, car guards gather
like a flock of flies buzzing everywhere
 
and thinking that I missed you,
you fail to turn up
I walk to a waiting taxi
and suddenly like a materializing angel
you are there in sheer beauty,
running up to me, into my arms
and it feels as if I haven’t been gone,
as if this city could again be home.